‘Those sketches had a certain something about them that I suspect is unique to you—I think you should get them checked out.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, in a voice that was clearly humouring him as she pulled the picnic basket towards her. ‘Mmm...chocolate cake.’
Frederick raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I’m bright like that. Come on, Sunita, why not send them off? What have you got to lose?’
She looked away from him, out over the dark blue crested waves that sculled gently towards the shore, towards the horizon where a ferry chugged purposefully.
Turning back to him, she shrugged. ‘I could lose something precious. Those sketches kept me sane—they were my own private dream growing up. They represented hope that I wasn’t totally worthless, not utterly stupid. I don’t want to expose them to anyone. I’ve never shown them to a soul.’
And he understood why—she would have been terrified of the comments from her stepmother or sisters...she would have hoarded her talent and hugged it tight.
‘Then maybe now is the time. Don’t let them win—all those mean-spirited people who put you down. You’ve already proved your success to them.’
She shook her head. ‘Only through modelling—that’s dumb genetic luck, plus being in the right place at the right time. Fashion design requires a whole lot more than that.’
‘I understand that you’re scared—and I know it won’t be easy—but if fashion design is your dream then you should go for it. Don’t let them hold you back from your potential. Don’t let what they did affect your life.’
‘Why not? You are.’
He hadn’t seen that one coming. ‘Meaning...?’
‘I think you’re scared too.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of bonding with Amil.’
The words hit him, causing his breath to catch. She moved across the rug closer to him, contrition written all over her beautiful face.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that in a tit-for-tat way, or as an accusation. It’s just I see how you look at him, with such love, but then I see how you hold back from being alone with him. You won’t even hold him and I don’t understand why.’
There was silence, and Frederick knew he needed to tell her. He couldn’t bear her to believe he didn’t want to hold his son.
‘Because of dumb genetic luck.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘When I was eighteen I went to see my mum. I hoped that there had been some mistake—that my father had lied to me, that she hadn’t really abandoned me and that there was some reason that would explain it all away. It turned out there was—she explained that she quite simply lacked the parenting gene.’
‘She said that?’
‘Yes.’
Her hands clenched into fists and her eyes positively blazed. ‘Is that what you’re scared of? That you lack the parenting gene?’
His gaze went involuntarily to his son, who lay asleep on the blanket, his bottom in the air, his impossibly long lashes sweeping his cheeks.
He couldn’t answer—didn’t need to. Even he could hear the affirmation in his silence.
‘You don’t.’ Sunita leaned across, brushing his forearm in the lightest of touches. ‘I can see how much you love Amil. You are not your mother or your father. You are you, and you are a great father—please believe that. Trust yourself. I promise I trust you.’ She inhaled an audible breath. ‘And I’ll prove it to you.’
‘What do you mean?’ Panic began to unfurl as she rose to her feet.
‘He’s all yours. I’ll see you back at the palace much later. Obviously call if there is an emergency—otherwise the boat will return for you in a few hours.’